I was ten when
I got caught stealing
blue chalk from the pool hall.

My daddy wore me out
with a black leather belt.

He said *What'd I tell you
about writing sad poems
on the back of the stones
at the orphan's graveyard?

~My Angel~

Once again I write through the tears,
you're five years gone and it seems like
yesterday we kissed...
I step into our room every night,
our haven, lit only by the soft glow of candlelight.
your perfume lingers from the mist I leave in the
air every morning...
Every three days I replace the red roses and baby's
breath on your nightstand.
We would make love here for hours, laugh and live.
now I sit alone, the tears never end, the thoughts are
vivid and enjoyable followed by a smile....
and more tears. I contemplate joining you, the pain
unbearable unlike any other pain imaginable.
I can't work I cant eat I can't sleep until the
physical exhaustion overpowers me into shutting down.

I miss you so much...
I don't know what to do, it was always just you and me.
I miss the way you smiled at me, the way you kissed me,
I miss your soft voice that always soothed me no matter
what the day had brought...
We confided in each other, we knew each other, we
loved each other without condition without bells and
whistles...

I wake in the night feeling the softness of your wings
brush my skin... grasping your side of the bed,
only to realize yet another wishful dream of what was
has taunted me....the tears come again.
What I would give to hold you again, feel your
love and warmth against me.
to kiss you one last time...

Am I the one you think about
when the skies open
and you expect a storm to take you?
Am I the one you think about
when sheets turn angry
in the sleepless heat of the night?

This partial solidity,
this gulf of an ocean;
words recited by heavy eyes,
the palm reader's devotion.

Am I the one you think about
when elephants drown in the salt-marsh fields
and tears sting your eyes?
Am I the one you think about
when you apply your eyeliner
and mourn your reflection?

This endless question,
this echo of no movement;
lipstick on your glass will bloom,
my sickly, time-lapse delusion.

Am I the one you think about
when the tanks move in
and you go to war with yourself?
Am I the one you think about
when the skies open
to miles of dust and distance?

A skeleton structurally unsound
Every bone vibrating with
The echoes of *goodbye